Here’s the story of Santa’s second job, revenge, and Tinkerbell.
I’M ALIVE! HALLELUJAH! Did you all survive the apocalypse? I hope so, because I did. I mean, seriously, the sheer notion that the world would simultaneously end in one foul swoop was ridiculous. I mean, we’d surely know. We’d surely have some sort of warning, right? Well, to all those who feared the end was nigh and the four headless horsemen, sponsored by Ikea, were coming, I have only one thing to say: “Get your ‘I Survived the Apocalypse’ t-shirts here! Get your ‘I Survived the Apocalypse’ t-shirts here! Buy now and you’ll get a free ‘I Survived the Apocalypse’ giant foam hand free! It’s too good a bargain to miss, so buy now!”
Knowing my luck, it’ll happen next Friday. I wonder if I can bribe St. Peter with an ‘I Survived the Apocalypse’ badge.
I was riding a bus whilst I was conjuring up my IStA range. It wasn’t the most serious of bus journeys. Santa was driving. I wondered if it was his day job and near Christmas, he dressed up as Santa because doing that in July is apparently ‘weird’.
I also wondered if it was revenge. You may remember readers that last week I joked about Rudolph being blended. And now Santa was driving the bus I was on. For all I knew, Santa had killed the bus driver, taken his place, and had taken everyone on board as hostages. I’d then be expected to raise my hand as the infamous Rudolph killer, Santa would let everyone go and I’d be left to try to fend off Santa’s murderous bat-swinging rage with whatever I had on me. What I had on me was around £1.50. You never know what damage you could do with a coin. I might have got lucky and blinded him.
In all probability, I don’t think it was Santa. Probably a single-father who turned up to work and got the short straw. The costume was definitely too big for him. But he said ‘ho, ho, ho’ to everyone who got on the bus (bless him), and I just sat there at the back of the bus, watching and laughing quietly as the British public proved that they’re complete miserable bastards on a cold winter morn. Several looked like they were about to handbag him. I tell you, by the looks on some of their faces, the bulletproof glass wouldn’t have stopped them. I think it got to him. Must’ve done as he got out at one stop for a cigarette. Yes, that image is as funny as you’re imagining it is. Tears would’ve made it YouTube worthy.
Is anyone very jolly? Or is it just the Brits that aren’t? If somebody here smiles at you on a morning, they’re either Satan, up to something, or are desperate to become your stalker. No in-betweens. Those are your only three options. It can’t be because they’re jolly. I’m not the biggest fan of Christmas, but come on, if there was ever a time to raise a smile, surely now is it.
There was one place I visited this week that had no shortage of jollies. The panto. That great old British tradition that’s as British as Punch and Judy, the Queen, fish and chips and Doctor Who. Despite the fact that Punch and Judy originates in Italy. And that the Queen is German. And that chips are a descendant of French cuisine. And that deep-fried, battered fish is cuisine of Portuguese and Spanish Jews. And that the guy who got Doctor Who off the ground and helped to create a lot of it was Canadian. But apart from all that, panto is quintessentially British. Well, no, actually, it was created in Greece.
The panto in question was Captain Hook. I’d forgotten all about it. You can imagine my shock when I found out on the morning that I’d have to spend the entire night watching grown men and women prance about on stage. I really didn’t want to go, but it was for a relative whom I love so very much, so I grinned and beared it.
I don’t go to the panto very often. I don’t like the spectacle, the loud noises and the terrible acting. There was a detachment from it for me. Everyone in the audience was joining in and I just sat there amazed by their frivolity. I was pretty miserable sitting among all that to be honest, but, like always in life, for every heartache there’s a lesson to be learned.
As I stared up at that stage at a very tall middle-aged man dancing to some Korean crap I’d thankfully never heard of before that moment, with a remarkably even taller man next to him in a parrot costume (seriously), I looked across at the loveable two-year-old who I was there for, for his upcoming third birthday, and I smiled. He was singing, clapping, shouting, dancing and loving every minute. He kept telling us about the characters and was delirious with excitement as one of the actors on stage wished him a happy birthday before the intermission.
He was worth it. I was there for him. Sometimes it’s impossible to see beyond our own noses. But sometimes, doing that is important. Especially now, at Christmas. He’ll never forget that panto. And that’s all that should’ve mattered.
It sure was a rip-roaring end to my week.
Have a very jolly Christmas, readers.
American comedian, actor, artist, musician, writer and humorist, Demetri Martin (b. 1973) once said: “I wrapped up my Christmas presents early this year, but I used the wrong paper. See, the paper I used said ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. I didn’t want to waste it so I just wrote ‘Jesus’ on it”.
Merry Christmas :|:
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